In the Chill of the Night
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: What really did happen to Illya during that long night on the mountain and why is he suddenly smoking? Written in response to Avery's prompt on MFU Scrapbook's Halloween challenge


Illya stepped out onto the narrow balcony of his hotel room and shuddered. It had nothing to do with the frigid air or the awe-inspiring view of the distant Alps. Rather, it had to do with an overwhelming sense of dread that had been dogging his heels ever since they had arrived at the hotel. The place had come highly recommended and Napoleon had talked of nothing else since making the plans.

And true to his nature, Napoleon decided that Illya needed to come along. There would be skiing during the day and relaxing by the fire at night. The rooms were new renovated and the restaurant was touted as first class. After a while, Illya simply ran out of excuses and nodded his agreement.

Illya tried to share Napoleon's excitement, but for some reason, he couldn't. He was just back from a two-month mission that had left him stranded for three nights in the snow and ice. More cold was not exactly what he wanted. More than anything, Illya just wanted to crawl into his bed and sleep for a week.

Illya shivered and patted his pockets, looking for the pack of cigarettes. He didn't, as a rule, smoke. Waverly frowned upon the practice among his field agents while he sat puffing away on his pipe. Yet ever since they arrived, Illya had craved nicotine, an odd thing for him. He'd resisted for several hours, but now, on his way back from dinner, he'd paused and purchased a pack. Illya didn't even see what brand he bought, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was the nicotine.

He lit the cigarette with matches that he got at the same time and took a puff. It felt odd but strangely familiar.

"Hey, Illya?" Napoleon walked in from the hallway and stopped. "What are you doing?"

"Aside from the obvious?" Illya blew the smoke out watching as the wind caught it. He took another long drag and let the smoke trickle out, fascinated with how it danced in the breeze.

"You don't smoke." Napoleon walked to the balcony. "And what are you doing out there with the door open? It's cold out and freezing in here again. I just got it warmed up."

"We are in the Alps in the winter time, Napoleon. Cold is the natural state here. Deal with it." Illya didn't mean for the comment to come out as sharply as it did.

"Ah, okay… uh, I was just reading about this place… it's… well, I'll leave it here for you." Napoleon placed the open book, face down, on the bed and retreated.

Napoleon wasn't usually easily put off by Illya's moods and he'd certainly been privy to more than his share. For him to just leave like that was out of character. Come to think about, they'd both been acting odd since check-in.

Heat on his fingers reminded him that he was holding the cigarette and Illya looked at it, as if seeing it for the first time. He dropped it to the wooden deck and crushed the butt out. What was he doing? He didn't smoke.

Illya blew on his hands to warm them and walked back into his room, closing the balcony door securely. The room was cold, even more than when they had arrived, a fact Napoleon had complained about to the front desk.

The register was pumping warm air into the room, but it didn't seem to have any effect. It didn't matter. Illya doubted that even a raging fire could warm him at this moment.

He stripped off and hurriedly climbed into his pajamas, glad that he'd had the foresight to pack the flannel pair. There was an extra blanket in the closet and he piled that on top of the down comforter on his bed. Eschewing the bathroom, he climbed into bed and shivered as icy bedclothes surrounded him.

This wasn't like him at all and Illya wondered if he was coming down with something. Turning off the light, Illya waited for sleep to come.

Illya was struggling through a blinding snow storm. The snow was coming down so thick that he had no idea where he was heading. He only knew that he had to keep moving. It was the only way to avoid death.

Even so, he knew he couldn't go on much longer. He'd lost feeling in his feet and hands. Most of his fingers and toes were frostbitten, and perhaps his nose as well. Even if he managed somehow to survive, his days with UNCLE were over. Not even Napoleon would have any use for a crippled partner.

Illya stumbled and fell head long into a snowdrift. He tried to rise but he couldn't. He'd given it his all and there was nothing left. Closing his eyes, he waited for death to claim him…

…Only to reopen them what seemed a moment later. He was floating, surrounded by three of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

_Stalin was wrong, then. God does exist,_ Illya thought. _For these surely are angels._

_Not angels,_ one whispered in his head. _We are Saligens and we are the guardians of these mountains and all who pass through them._

_Saligens?_ Illya struggled with the word even as he was laid to rest on a bed of air and light. The three danced around him in attendance. In a breath, his clothes were gone and he was being bathed in gentle warmth. All three women were smoking something and they took it in turns to blow the smoke over parts of his body. Soothing ointment was worked into in his feet and hands and, without meaning to, Illya slept surrounded by a peace he'd never known before.

When he woke, he was surprised to find they were still here. And he was still here, alive and whole. His hands and feet were fine and the snow had been replaced by a lush carpet of green grass. The air was warm and caressing, filled with the songs of unfamiliar birds.

_Where am I?_

_Someplace safe. _

_Someplace warm._

_Someplace wonderful._

Each of them had spoke in turn, but he couldn't tell the difference from one to the other. Strangely, it didn't matter. Nor did it matter when they came to him and made love with him.

Afterward, they lay together in a contented pile and Illya stroked the head closest to his hand. _I never want to leave._

_You can't stay. No mortal can, but you can come back._

_At the height of the full moon, but you must keep a promise to us._

_What? Anything!_

_Never take the life of any mountain creature for they are as precious to us as you are._

_I promise. _It was a promise easily made.

He woke in Medical to Napoleon's worried expression. To Illya's great relief, he was fine, although the doctors couldn't understand how he had escaped tissue death from frostbite.

As time went on, he got used to the whispers behind his back, from strangers, from Napoleon. They would mumble how anxious Illya would act just before a full moon and how sated he seemed afterwards. Illya didn't care what they said. The full moon would sweep him away to the waiting arms of his Saligens and he would know unconditional love and happiness. Everything else was just biding his time until the next full moon.

Then it happened. Napoleon was captured. Illya managed to rescue him, but Napoleon was half crazed from a lack of food and drink. THRUSH had been at their very worst and Illya could see Napoleon slipping away. He had only one alternative, even though he knew the steep penalty it carried.

He moved out onto the ridge and, mentally begging forgiveness, Illya lifted his rifle and a single shot dropped the chamois in its tracks.

Illya rushed to the goat's side and that's when he saw them, their once-beautiful faces full of anger and hatred, whipping back and forth in the air, no longer fairies, but furies.

_You promised! _ one screeched.

_I'm sorry. My partner is starving. He needs food._

_You promised! _another one accused_._

_He's important to me. He deserves to live._

_You promised! _The last one, Illya's favorite, looked closer to tears than the others.

_I know._ He dropped his head, ashamed and aware of the cost of his violation.

Illya carried the goat back to where Napoleon laid, too weak to do more than smile at his return. Illya started a fire and carefully roasted a thick piece of meat for Napoleon. Then, with an ample supply of water, Illya left Napoleon as he ate. In a near daze, he climbed back to the ridge to the spot of the atrocity.

They were still there, fury clouding their once benevolent features.

_I'm sorry. I promised and I am prepared to suffer the consequences of my actions. A life for a life._ And he stepped off the cliff into nothingness.

"My God, Illya, what are you playing at?"

Napoleon's shout in his ear woke Illya and he looked out at the horizon. It was bleeding red with the approaching dawn. Then he looked down. Oblivion hung just inches from him. Illya started to shiver in Napoleon's embrace. It had been a dream, all a dream, hadn't it?

"We're eight stories up." Napoleon wrestled Illya away from the edge of the balcony where he'd been perched, arms outright to the sky. "It's a good thing the cold woke me. Another minute and you'd be consigned to the Happy Spy Hunting Grounds."

Illya permitted himself to be hustled back into the room and wrapped in a blanket. He mumbled his thanks as he sat, trembling, on the bed. Napoleon sat beside him, an arm around his shoulders, as if afraid to let go lest the Russian bolt for the balcony and complete his attempt at suicide.

"What happened, Illya?" Napoleon's eyes were haunted as they studied Illya. The last mission had been tough on both of them. Psych had cleared them with the condition that they take some down time. Napoleon doubted they would have been so accommodating had they just witnessed what he had.

"I… I don't know." His partner took a deep breath and caught sight of the cigarettes sitting on the arm of a chair. "I think you need to have those analyzed. I think THRUSH might have caught wind of our presence." It was nonsense and he knew it, but Napoleon nodded all the same.

"All right." Napoleon squeezed Illya's shoulder and smiled, concern lining his brow. "I'll send them out by courier."

"Better than that, let's take them ourselves. I need to get out of here, Napoleon. Please?"

"Sure, whatever you say, Partner. I'll pack. You just sit there and get warm."

As he passed by the balcony, Napoleon glanced out. For a moment, he could swear he saw three women, transparent and drifting on the wind as if they were nothing more than smoke. Then there was a fourth, just as vaporous, but looking frighteningly like Illya.

Napoleon glanced over at the bed where Illya sat, the blanket still wrapped tightly around him.

When Napoleon looked back, they, like morning mist, were gone.

The legends of the Mountain Fairies can be found at this website: _ intern/#!/site=feenreich&language=en_


End file.
